What a week.

          Lordy lordy lordy. To begin, an excerpt from my journal dated yesterday, Friday the 25th of September:
          "OH MY GOD I wish I had my iPhone right now so I could share this experience with the world...oh man oh man oh man oh MAN. Oh my god so much drama this week and it all was like adding water to an above-ground pool and LITERALLY ¡à ce moment! someone just popped the side --my chest cavity-- and it all came spilling out into the yard and soaking into the grass. Oh my god. It's a relief, it's a relief, it's a good thing. I think."
          Well, it was about the first of the aforementioned presentations in the class at the French university. Last Friday, I thought I understood the assignment--about a subject related to Marguerite Duras and her life and works. I began to do some research and then realized that what I thought had been a title given to me to research and present "L'Alcool" (alcohol), was not, in fact, the title of any piece (written or in film) that Madame Duras had ever created. I then emailed the professor, re-stating the way in which I had understood the assignment and asking her to correct my mistakes. In French, of course!
          Well, she didn't respond for three or four days. Naturellement. So as you can probably imagine if you are at all familiar with the neuroticism of one Miss Shannon M. Copfer, that 3-4 day period was most definitely the longest I've ever experienced. And in no way short on drama, as with each hour (it seemed) I was getting more and more stressed out and was having more and more recurring waking nightmares of getting to class and making a fool out of myself. I became desperate! I enlisted my program director to help me--and oh my goodness he was so helpful, he gave me books, and suggestions for research topics, and peace of mind--he said not to worry, that my situation was common, that it would all be fine. I wrapped all my friends up in the drama, too, and accepted their sympathies for my predicament as well as their reassurances that it would all be fine. I decided to focus on researching the role of "L'alcool" in the life of Marguerite Duras--a recognized alcoholic--and it's presence in her works (that is, the recurring themes directly influenced by her experiences with alcohol).
          After all that, then, a bit of calm finally began to set in once I had settled on the topic and begun working. And who do you think emailed me then? The professor. She wanted to tell me not to worry, that it seemed that I had understood well and that I should be very prepared come class on Friday. WOAH! That was an incredible relief, and I was able to set in work on my petit presentation. Of course that's not to say I wasn't still nervous and intimidated, but at least I was confident in my subject.
          CLEARLY, something along the line somewhere was mis-communicated.
          I got to class on Friday morning still a little nervous, having practiced several times. Very involved in my own head at that moment, I was surprised to hear the voice of a French student next to me directed my way. She asked how it had gone with the research? I told her well, I thought, but-- (and at this point she interrupted me, "Oh, you're not French?" Hm. Typical...) --but that I was a little confused about the topic. I told her the story. And she said that oh, no, it wasn't supposed to have been a title at all, rather, it was the title of a subsection from one of Marguerite Duras' books. Oh my god. I just about died from embarrassment. How had I missed that?!! HOW!? What was I going to tell the professor??!
          --And at just that moment she walked in, having just caught the tail end of our exchange. And my heart stopped beating, I think. Really. It's not that this woman is intimidating; rather, it's that one of my worst fears and hatreds is letting people down.
          But she was actually nice about it! She said not to worry, that it happens, that it would be fine. I asked her if she wanted me to give the presentation I had already prepared, because even though it was wrong it was probably relevant in some way (so dumb, Shannon, why...?) and she said no, it's alright.
          No,thanks. Really? No? No presentation. After the week that I had? It was at this point I wrote the journal entry quoted above. Mostly relief, good and bad also mixed together. Interesting experience. I'm a believer that once in a while it's very enlightening to make an ass of yourself.
          For example, I feel invincible now. Really, what worse could happen? And I know what I can handle--which is (of course) more than I would have thought. Which I'm sure one of you, my wise readers, could have told me without all the fuss. Whew.

Bisous and until next time,
Shan